The Greatest Battle we Never Fought
by CindyChamiAngel
Summary: Someone is getting married and the Reds and Blues some freelancers and maybe even an exploding friend or two stop in for drinks. And one person's bright future leads to other's reminiscing about their not too bright pasts.
1. Chapter 1

Red

Sarge was first there, damn his honor and impeccable sense of time. He looked at his chronometer. Yep, he was within 45 seconds of dead, solid perfect.

He stood in the bar feeling awkward and out of place, like a sophomore at senior prom, like all eyes were on him. A bead of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and yea, all eyes were on him

The maitre'd cleared his throat.

"Sounds like you got a cold coming on there, fella." Sarge offered.

"Él quiere que te quites el casco, tú, el inculturista incultero." Lopez said from under Sarge's arm.

"I know, Lopez, He probably shouldn't be working with the public in his condition."  
The matr'e raised his eyebrows.

Lopez noticed and ventured a sentence.

"¿Hablas español?" He queried.

"Si." The Maitre'd replied.

"Bueno, debería sugerirle que se lo diga. Si pudiera dar una pista, habría saltado desde un acantilado hace mucho tiempo. Puta estúpida."

"You speak that gobbledygook? Well, what did he say?" Sarge demanded.

"He said, sir, that you are a man of action and not one for beating around the bush and I should just let you know that helmets are not allowed in here."

"Oh, this?: He pointed to Lopez under his shoulder. "No this isn't a helmet. It's a robot I built. He was a kit I got when we were stationed at… Well, if I told ya, I'd have to kill ya..."

"Oh Dios Mio!" Lopez said.

"No sir, I meant your helmet. The one on your head."

"Well, I'm not very comfortable with that but I guess rules are rules." Sarge pushed the button and there was a vague hiss as the suit depressurized. It was always uncomfortable, breathing air that had only been recirculated three or four times, having people see his face.

OH, the scar was nice, he supposed. It ran jagged and purple down his face from the silver buzzcut to the square chin. But the truth was without his helmet he was… exposed.

He followed the elegant man in the black suit all the way to the back of the bar. All fleet bars were like this. Front half officer's club, working men in the back. He liked it that way. It was the military way.

"Somethings can't be regimented." The thought ran unfettered through his mind as sometimes they often did. Usually, his brain was on lockdown, but he wasn't in the field, he wasn't in constant vigilance…

"Shut up." He said out loud and the maitre'd turned to him.

Pardon me?"

"Wasn't talking to yourself."

"Sí, él no es solo un asno, es un asno loco."

"Now, send us some Kration pretzels and cheeze food and it'll be a real party," Sarge said as he placed Lopez on the table and dropped into a chair.

"Tienes mi simpatía mi amigo." The maitre'd said as he left the room.

And now Sarge was the one place he hated most in the world… Alone with his brain.

"I wonder who'll show up next." He said, ostensibly to Lopez, but really to the walls. "Simmons probably, with a clipboard and a stick up his ass. Good man that Simmons."

He let the silence fester for a moment and glared at the wall.

"Maybe a Blue. The tall, dumb one. What's his name?"

"Caboose." Lopez intoned.

"Ya want to talk about trains at a time like this?"

Lopez, in frustration, powered down into reserve mode.

"Maybe that leader. He was a robot like you, wasn't he? Lopez? Sleeping on the job again..."

"Surely not Griff. I mean he's never been on time for anything in his life. If it weren't for the food, I'd think he'd just sleep instead. Yeah. That Patrick..."

Sarge stopped as if someone had put a knife to his throat.

"I meant Grif. I hate these stations. Not like a planet where you can hear bugs and animals and that maddening hum…"

The waitress entered, a pretty girl, a little round in the bottom and with a huge… personality. Sarge eyed her.

"What can I get you, handsome?"

"Well, my friend here will have a quart of your finest oil and I'll have a bourbon with a beer back."

"Done and done. You here for the bachelor party?"

"I am indeed, though the whole damned thing is a fool's errand. If the corp wanted us to have a wife they'd have put one in our duffle bags. Nope. Marriage is for..."

The words trailed off as thoughts he'd spent ages burying threatened revolution in the back part of his consciousness.

"Well, I have to admit I don't disagree, but I make a killing in tips on these things."

She smiled and swirled out of the room a wave of good perfume and aged whiskey and grill smoke from the kitchen dancing in her wake.

"Marriage is for suckers," Sarge said to no one, this time, truly rhetorical as his mind pushed away again the monsters of the past.

The waitress returned and with her was Grif. She put his beer and shot on the table in front of him and stepped back.

"Return to sender! Return to sender!" Sarge said loudly.

The frown on Grif's face, that look of utter defiance.

So familiar. So dear.

It was the hardest battle he'd ever fought, but somehow he kept the tear at bay,

"Ok ignore the old man. He's insane."

"OJ, come on now..."

"He tried to run me over with a tank!"

"I'm sure you're exaggerating." The waitress said.

"He put a snake in my underwear drawer..."

"Childish..."

"A very poisonous one..."

"Oh stop. You were perfectly safe. By the time you changed your underwear, it would have starved to death anyway… I wish Simmons was here, I could use a "Very funny Sargent right about now."

"Very funny Sarge," Simmons said and dropped down next to Sarge. His face was as bright and eager as Grif's pouty and recalcitrant.

"Good man. Now listen, our attendance at this little shindig does not mean we are at peace with the blues. This is more an intelligence operation..."

"Well, It looks like you forgot to bring the intelligence part," Grif said as he sat down on the other side of the table. A couple of other waitresses entered carrying large trays of food."

"Now it's a party..." Grif said picking up some potato salad with his fingers and shoving it in his mouth.

"I think that's for everyone?" Simmons said.

"Not anymore," Grif replied and tucked in.


	2. Chapter 2 - Blues

Blues

"So… " Caboose began with way too many O'S in the sentence for Church's liking.

"One more time, Caboose. This is my new robot body. I got it for this party, it's a rental."

"Annnnndddd..."

"The only one they had was this one…."

"Annnnnddddd..."

"It came this way. They're stickers and I can peel them off when we get there. And yes, they look like naked ladies, and I swear to God, Tucker if you say Bow-chika-wow-wow one more time, I will pay the first freelancer we find to kill you."

"Bow-chika-wow-wow" Tucker whispered quickly.

Church sighed deeply. "Look, let's go in here, eat some bad food, drink and then get out of here so I can go back into my unit..."

"Um. Will they have robot food?" Caboose asked.

"I meant you guys would eat..."

"And robot..."

"NO Caboose. No robot juice and I don't drink oil and I don't like having mudflap silhouette ladies on my head any more than anyone else."

"I'm fine with it." Tucker offered.

Behind him, Church heard a pair of matches hisses as they took off their helmets. He turned because as much as they drove him crazy, as much as he wanted to kill them most of the time, they really were a comfort to him sometimes. Those faces were familiar and normal.

The eyes that looked at him were very different, Caboose's, wide and innocent, Tuckers filled with a vague impish wickedness. He couldn't remember his own eyes and what struck him about that though was that he almost never had it, that it brought with it no emotion. Had he, then, become, or was he always, just a machine?

This wasn't the time for that kind of philosophical rabbit hole.

"Sir, you will need to remove your helmet." The slimy maitre'd said. Church didn't like him, not one bit. He was a divider – you, you're acceptable, you go there, you, not so much, to the back room with you."

"Um… see, the thing is, Church isn't wearing a helmet. He's a robot." Caboose said.

"Excuse me?" The fascist said and Church resisted the urge to tell him where to go.

"We do not serve robots and I already made an exception for your insane friend's service robot head..."

The swell of the man's pompous chest and the arrogant look rose in Church like black bile and he had to clench his fist a couple of times to keep from swinging, but something happened then, something most peculiar.

Just then an officer came over, one with a lot of gold on his shoulders and a bald patch caused by wearing a hat too much.

"Michael?" He said. "Doc?!" The officer reached for Caboose's hand and pumped it hard. "Oh my god, it is you. We heard… well, we heard about the accident. We thought… well never mind."

"OK, sorry, you have made a horrible mistake. This is Michael Caboose..." Church offered.

"Yes, Dr. Michael J. Caboose. We worked together on the nano shielding and Open universe programs. So gifted. But… well, we heard that was all over after the accident."

"Nano, what?" Tucker said.

"Nano Shielding. Little tiny robots… little friends all over your body." Caboose offered in that off-handed, childish way of his.

"Caboose? Seriously?" Church said.

"Yeah, our Caboose?" Tucker replied.

"Oh, doctor, it's so good to see you again. And who are you're friends?"

"This is Tucker. And this is Church. He's my best friend. He's a robot."

The officer turned to Church with wonder in his eyes. He looked him over like he was a saddlebred and then looked back to Caboose.

"Well, this is impressive. AI I assume?"

"Yes," Church interjected.

"Well, it's impressive but it needs to learn some manners when dealing with Organics… Why don't you and your… friends join us and we can talk about your new project and funding and things..."

Church swallowed hard. It wasn't a real swallow, but that was ok because it was his pride.

"The doctor has a very urgent meeting with some… colleagues back in the Enlisted area."

"Why invite them here!"

"It's a bachelor party. Tucker says there will be girls." Caboose intoned.

"Oh, I see. Yes, it's more private back there… anyway, you have fun. You work too hard as I remember and a little cutting loose might do you some good." He patted Caboose on the shoulder. "And call my office if you need anything, Doc. It's good to see you up and walking again..." The officer turned to the Maitre'd. "Anything they want on my tab. And curb the attitude."

The Maitre'd frowned heavily but looked at them.

"This way, gentlemen..." he offered.

"Ok, what the hell just happened?" Tucker asked as they walked to the private room in the back of the fleet bar.

"I'm processing, but I think it could come in useful. And we just got access to an officer's tab so, drinks are on me!" Church said as the door opened.

He looked in and saw the Reds, Sarge talking to Lopez. Church could tell Lopez wasn't listening, he was powered off. He decided to let Sarge run with it. Simmons was reading some kind of technical manual and Grif was eating potato salad with his hands.

"Yep, just like old times," Church said and took a seat.

"Nice head." Grif shot at him through bites of the sticky goo.

"Wish I could say the same for you." Church shot back.

"What in the hell is that on your head, son!" Sarge asked, incredulous.

"I think they are naked girls..." Simmons offered.

"But he isn't really an authority," Grif added.

"Look, it's a rental body for the party and then I go back to my unit, ok, it's already gross enough in here without having to explain the outside."

"You look like the busser in a strip club." Tucker offered earnestly.

"Or the fluf..." Grif began

"Say it and I will shove that potato salad in places where you will never see it again."

"The man outside thinks Church is my project. I told him he's my friend." Caboose said.

"Beg pardon?" Simmons said, looking up from the boring tome.

"Apparently before blood gulch, Caboose here was some kind of scientist."

"What was he studying? Which fruit-flavored cereal burns less when you get it in your eyes?" Grif asked.

"Nanotech." Church offered. "He had some kind of accident. And you know, there is something that has always bugged me. I know why I ended up in the gulch but what about you guys. I mean, it could be random chance, or you could be the guys with the lowest test scores, but… what if it's more than that? What there is some reason why you were chosen? Specifically. Like maybe someone put Caboose there for safekeeping, to keep an eye on him."

"Maybe they just knew we were the best men for the job," Sarge said.

"I'm not sure any of us have ever been the best man for anything." Grif offered and threw the empty plastic container on the floor. He grabbed a tray of fruit.

"Maybe you guys have secrets, too..." Church said. "And maybe it's time we find out what they are..."

He looked around at the others.

"I know that look. It means Church has figured out something for us to do. And we all know how I feel about doing things." Grif offered and leaned back.

"Maybe we just start by talking about what we remember." Tucker offered. "I mean we got all night."

"Fine. Just talking though. No moving." Grif returned.

"Fine," Tucker said.

"Fine," Simmons added.

"Fine!" Caboose offered in a bright, childish singsong.

"Sarge?" Church asked. Sarge thought for a long minute.

"Well, ok, but I warn you, there are secrets in my brain that will make the faint of heart pass out from fright."

"Yeah, most of us do that from your cologne," Grif said.

"Why you!"

Church leaped up and effortlessly held them apart. At least this body was strong.


	3. Chapter 3

Caboose

"Ok, who wants to go first? Tucker?" Church asked.

"Not me," Tucker said and watched the waitresses leave. "I'll be right back," he said and followed them out.

Church sighed. "Sarge? What about you, or Simmons…."

Simmons opened his mouth to speak but Grif cut him off. "Am I the only one who's curious about DR. Caboose? I mean, isn't that one of those oxymorons like jumbo shrimp. Hey, look Shrimp! It's like magic.." He reached over for the seafood platter.

"Well, he has a point." Simmons offered.

"Yep and if he puts his helmet back on no one will see it," Sarge added.

"Good one, sir," Simmons said without thinking. "So, were you really a doctor?" He asked Caboose.

"Not the kind that does medicine. I worked with robots and stuff." Caboose said disinterestedly. He was looking decidedly at the sticker on the side of Church's head. After a long second, he reached out toward it and…

"I will cut off your arm," Church said without looking up. Caboose jerked his arm back quickly and instead grabbed some cake and put it in his mouth. "So tell use, Caboose, what happened?"

"Well, there was this new robot and I was trying to make friends with him. And he got tired and fell down and bonked me on the head. There was a lot of blood."

They all exchanged uneasy looks.

"OK, that's probably not going leave my brain for a while." Grif offered.

"Yeah. Kinda creepy." Simmons agreed.

"But it tells us nothing. We need to get that general in here. Oh, yeah. Drinks are on me." Church said and turned, leaving the room.

He was just in time, the General and his party were glad-handing by the door and Church watched for a second. He knew the direct approach was out. This guy was a robotist… Or whatever you call people who are bigoted against AIs. No, he'd have to be more subtle…

He made his plan and walked over to the General.

"Sir," He began.

The general turned and his face lit up. "See, this is it, I was telling you guys about this. It's the new AI Caboose is working on. Tell them about how you're Caboose's new creation..."

Internally, Church wished for his sniper rifle. Externally he forced a smile into his voice.

"Sure, yeah, he's a joy. Um, General, I was wondering if maybe we might ask you a few questions. I mean. The doctor was."

"It sure would be good to have Michael back on board, wouldn't it?" One of the other brass hats said.

"With his brain, we could have this singularity problem fixed in no time." Another said.

"Yes." The general concurred. "But I wouldn't want to push him. I mean, it's a miracle the man is standing. I feel sure it's that little something extra of his..."

"I thought that was just a form of machine empathy..." Another asked.

"Well, psionics are unpredictable… You remember that man who could warp space..."

"General, I'm sorry to bother you but Dr. Caboose said It was kind of urgent..." Church offered.

"Yes, yes. Of course. I'll see you gentlemen in a few hours." The others left and the general turned to Church. "Now, what was your name again?"

"Church, sir. This way." As the general passed him he resisted the urge to smack him in the back of the head.

Church wasn't sure how well this was going to go, but halfway up the hall, the general stopped and turned to him.

"Tell me, how bad is he?" He asked. There was genuine concern in his voice. This man had been friends with the other Caboose, the one he couldn't even imagine.

"Oh, he's fine he's…" Church saw the look on the General's face and he stopped. "The Caboose you knew is gone. This one is like a child. He can follow basic orders and that's about it. If you're looking for your genius, well, that's gone. But I like him..."

"You're an AI right? You wouldn't have much choice about that. Apparently, his ability is still intact. And that in itself is very valuable."

"What is his ability? I mean, what is machine empathy?" Church asked.

"It's like a kind of charisma with machines. They always function perfectly for him, they seem to… like him. He understands them the way regular people don't. And they seem to understand him. They act against their program occasionally, too..."

"They always do now sir. His friends consist of a talking bomb, a tank, and a mantis droid..."

"And you?" The general asked.

"Apparently I'm his best friend," Church responded.

"That is a great honor. I was once his best friend. OK, let's go see him." The general turned with no fanfare and entered the small party room.

Church followed him.

"Hello, Michael." The general said as he entered. He put his hand affectionately on Caboose's shoulder as one would a favorite nephew. "Introduce me to your friends..."

"OK, That's Sarge over there. He's kind of growly. And that is Simmons beside him. They are best friends. And that is Griff. He has eaten more food than I ever saw anyone eat. This is Tucker. You met him in the front. And this is Church, he is my best friend in the whole universe."

It seemed to Church the general had to resist tousling Caboose hair. Suddenly, Church hated him less.

"And this is Eric. He is a General and a scientist. He works with the little robots." Caboose went back to licking frosting off his finger. The general seemed suddenly very defeated.

"We have questions," Church said. The general nodded and everyone in the room suddenly looked interested.

"Well, if it's about Tucker and the girls. Grif says he got shot down." Caboose made the sign of a plane crashing with his hand. "I don't know what that means but it's fun to do."

"I did not... shut up..." Tucker said.

"Did too," Grif said.

"Enough," Church yelled and they all stopped. They looked at Church the way children look at an angry parent, defiant but cowed.

Church realized that sudden he had become the focus of the general's interest.

"So, what happened?" Church asked.

"There is more to your question than meets the ear, Church…" The General looked at him for a long second. "Michael Caboose was the best man at my wedding..."

"Two of them, actually." Caboose offered. "The cake was better at the second one, but the wife was better at the first." He added.

"In retrospect, you are correct as always my friend. Anyway. He and I were research partners. We worked on a couple of projects and then we were approached by the military to help design nanotech shielding for battle armor. Since both of us fell high on the Psy scale, I think they wanted us in the fold."

"Psy scale?" Grif asked.

"Yes. Michael has the ability to manipulate machines with his mind and I get occasional glimpses of… important things."

"Go on," Simmons said.

"Everything was going well until we brought in a macro armor..."

"Yeah, no idea what that is..." Tucker said.

"It's a giant armor robot." Caboose said. "You get in it and it makes you able to fly in space and stuff. Most of them are nice, but Punchy wasn't..."

"Excuse me, Punchy?" Simmons asked.

"There was a malfunction with the computer in the mech." The general translated. "Michael thought he could fix it. I was out of the lab and it broke down. It attacked Michael. It was…"

"That hurted a lot." Caboose said sadly. "And they killed punchy." He added sadly.

"He was in a coma for six months and when he came out..."

"So they dumped him in Blood Gulch with the rest of us?" Tucker asked.

"You're the reds and blues?" The general asked. "That makes you..." He turned to Church. "I'm sorry Director, I didn't recognize you..."

"I'm not the director. I'm just a piece of his psyche that splintered off when he tortured himself. It sounds much worse when you say it out loud." Church said.

"Still… It's an honor. I'm sorry about out there… Have to keep up appearances so they don't get suspicious."

"Well, machines are people, too." Church offered.

"You'll forgive me if I don't trust them entirely." He said looking at Caboose. Church nodded. "So about your questions. No, they didn't just shove him in Blood Gulch. I did."

"Why on earth would you do a thing like that?" Sarge asked.

"For the same reason all of you were shoved there. To protect him. Caboose is a psychic. That means the military will use him until there is nothing left. While he had his great intellect, they wouldn't dare… But now. They would use him up and throw away the empty husk. That's why those men I was with need to think he's on the mend. And why you guys need to keep him safe. And yourselves..."

"So you going to tell us our sad backstories or do we need to figure them out ourselves?" Grif asked.

"I'm afraid I don't know. I can do a little digging for you. But if you don't know..." The general offered.

"Well, that would be nice, General." Church offered.

"I do know this, guys. If you were in that gulch it's because someone cares about you a hell of a lot. Someone with some pull. And because someone else which the same amount of power wants you dead just as bad."

"Danger is our middle name..." Tucker offered.

"Speak for yourself," Grif replied.

"Yeah, Grif's middle name is diabetes..." Simmons said. "Good one, Simmons," He added almost silently.

"Why did they send us to Blood Gulch?" Tucker asked, breaking the tension.

"With all the Freelancer fuckery going on there, no one would dare look for you even if they knew you existed."

"We existed in the database. I know, we got DELETED." Church offered, looking at Simmons.

"Sure, under freelancer double top secret clearance. It was arranged that way."

"Who arranged it?"

"Again, don't know. I was told that for a couple of favors and some cash, Michael could disappear."

"What kind of favors?" Church asked. His suspicious was apparent in his tone.

"I had to make a few other people disappear in more permanent ways. Point is, they were safe. But people are hearing things..."

"So let me get this straight." Sarge began, standing up. "There are no songs being sung about our exploits? No gripping tales of our glory?

No tales of daring do?"

"None. You're all invisible…

Sarge looked sad.

"It's ok, Sarge, we know about your heroics..." Simmons offered.

"No one care what you know, Simmons..." Sarge responded.

"It had been ten minutes since Simmons last kissed Sarge's ass, I was beginning to worry..." Grif offered."

"Don't you have something to eat?" Simmons threw back.

"Now that you mention it…" Grif grabbed a huge hamburger and chomped down.

"Tell you what." General Eric offered. "You guys hang out here, have your party and I'll try to get some info."  
"Yah, we can talk amongst ourselves and see what we remember..." Church offered.

"Just be ready to bug out."

Eric stood. He put his hand on Caboose shoulder. "I'll come back and see you later." He said.

"Ok." Caboose returned.

General Eric left the room.

"So, do we trust him?" Tucker asked.

"Not as far as we could spit him." Church returned.

"So what do we do?" Simmons asked.

"Simmons, you are consorting with the enemy."

"As usual Sarge, we have a bigger enemy." Grif offered. Sarge looked at him but instead of some scathing remark, he simply nodded.

"So, What do we do?" Grif asked.

"We wait," Church responded.

"For what?" Sarge asked.

"Well, in a very few minutes, those doors are going to open. And through them will walk some of the hardest, meanest, most well trained and outfitted soldiers to ever grace the universe. And gentlemen, They will be on our side..."

They all turned to the door in great anticipation. The moments slipped by punctuated by stilted breaths and staggered heartbeat.

And then it happened, the door opened and in came two soldiers…

"Yoo-hoo! We're here. Shove those party whistles in and blow 'em..."

"Anyone call for a medic!"

"OK, not those soldiers..." Church offered, his voice dripping with disappointment.


End file.
